Through the Looking Glass
by Hibou
Summary: A 17-yr-old girl travels through a magic mirror, away from her not-so-perfect life into a seemingly enchanting place that needs her help and rescue
1. Prologue and Continuance

PROLOGUE  
  
Continuation: persistence, maintenance, permanence.  
  
The act of continuing.  
  
To continue.  
  
Yes, well, we seem to have a problem with that, don't we?  
  
One may continue with one's actions, habits, life, if one's actions, habits, life remain in a state that advocates their continuity; that is, if everything remains the same and all aspects of action, habit, and life are present in the everyday.  
  
Never again.  
  
Sunshine, laughter, being swept up in strong loving arms to spin exuberantly above the grass; playing catch and tag and basketball accompanied by the velveted voice and capable hands and sure knowledge of this idolized man. Learning from him: fractions and algebra, boxing and swimming, things you don't say around your mother (rendered slightly less dangerous in Spanish and French), what it is to be kind and why we are the way we are and why the snow falls and the flowers die and the ice melts and spring wakes up the baby leaves in their buds on the trees; how to shoot a three-pointer and change a tire and check the oil and what we do when we leave for work every day; don't forget to buckle up honey and don't stay out too late and watch for the cops in that speed trap I showed you and we'll get your books tomorrow and have fun and I love you.  
  
And blessedness, and being charmed, and always having a place to run to even if you don't want to be seen running; broad, strong shoulders to cry on; gentle hands to wipe away your tears, the calloused fists ready at your defense no matter what.  
  
Never again.  
  
The ringing of the phone in the dead of the night; a cry from the heart as your mother learns what she never wanted to know, and tears and sympathy and pity (pity pity I hate you and your pity). Funeral-baked meats and lemon bars; the smell of Grandma's house and the settling of papers and the rich reddish color of a handsome wooden box being lowered into the ground. A single white rose-how many times she would shudder, seeing that perfect alabaster bud drift down to tap onto the lid of the only thing that remained of her father, seeing the rose disappear under flakes of dirt and clods of broken grass and finally the whole thing blurring and swimming and vanishing into the silvery mist of tears. Arms around her, offering comfort and sympathy and pity (don't pity me I don't need your pity I hate your pity) smothering her and clamping her down with their kindness and care until it was all she could do not to run screaming to find him, to join with this beloved man who had created and shaped her world and left it so cold.  
  
Persistence, maintenance, permanence.  
  
CHAPTER 1  
  
".And so we see that the addition of force, shown by this vector A in the negative-y direction, alters the momentum of object 1, sending it.."  
  
H'm. Maybe a sunburst. Or a shooting star. Yeah, that would look nice: a shooting star arcing up across her neck, right under her earlobe. But that was all nerve endings there, and it would hurt like a bitch. And good luck trying to get Mom to pay for it. She'd nearly lost it when Rhi'd come home with a third hoop in her earlobes; a tattoo was way out there on the "not-a- chance-in-hell" scale.  
  
Rhi ran a hand through her long black hair and twiddled the pen between her thumb and forefinger, noting appreciatively the subtle segue between her physics notes and the not-so-possible designs for her not-going-to-happen tattoo. Object 1 (of mass m1) had been on a collision course with Object 2 (of mass 2xm1) until Object 1 had become a flaming comet and Object 2 had transformed into a tightly cowering turtle, albeit unrealistically bigger than the aforementioned flaming comet. Although given the fact that thousands of particles of space dust were colliding with the earth every day, and no one really noticed since so much of it burned up in the atmosphere, it could be possible for a turtle to be bigger than a comet..  
  
This was so stupid. The class was stupid, the teacher was stupid, and the subject matter was stupid. She'd taken physics at her old school-AP Physics*, in fact, and taken the AP test, and gotten a 4 (a 4! One out of her whole class, a 4!) , so she'd be able to skip introductory physics in college, but as for now.stupid IB school, wouldn't accept her AP credits, so she had to sit through basic again.  
  
Gods bless whoever had invented changing bells. Rhiannon Abernathy gathered her rather artistic notes and book and shouldering her bag, joined the milling herds of students in the halls of her new school, on the way to her last class of the day. Phy Ed wasn't such a bad way to end a day of classes, especially when it was late spring and getting warm, and the class was meeting in the swimming pool every day to splash around and generally goof off. At least, everyone else did. Everyone else joined in the semi- flirting games of Chicken and Marco Polo; Rhi swam laps. Had she and Mom come to this town earlier in the year she'd have been eligible for the girls' swim team, but as it was the season was over before they'd even had need to look for a new high school for Rhiannon, and so the lanky swimmer laced her way through the water, up and down the 25 meters again and again until the bell rang.  
  
The other girls in the locker room hushed when Rhi stepped into the showers, conspicuous in her silence and her one-piece racing suit. She didn't need to look at them to know that April and her friends were staring at her, half-glaring and half-curious; April herself would be running an interior monologue about how she disliked Rhi and her taciturnity, her self- contained poise and easy grace in that long, lean form that had almost been made for the pool. Of course, April wouldn't use words like 'taciturnity' or 'poise'; Rhi's mom had always maintained that blonde was not just a hair color, it was a state of intelligence, and the bleached April had both bases well covered. More likely she was muttering things like 'queer' and 'bitch' and 'lezbo' to her groupies under her breath.  
  
Bubblegum clutch-pig, Rhi thought contemptuously, as the water slid eagerly up around her hips as if to welcome her back. April and her friends entered the pool much more ceremoniously, with shrieks and complaints about the temperature and the stupidity of swimming and oh, I don't want to get my new two-piece wet yet and don't splash my hair!  
  
Rhi didn't know how or why she'd excited April Hanson's enmity, nor did she care. All she knew was that the two of them had disliked each other since Rhi's first day at this new school. They were, not ironically, almost polar opposites: small, curvaceous April with her carefully-maintained roots and French manicure and well-guarded circle of followers; tall, narrow, muscled Rhiannon with her long, careless black hair and lack of fashion sense and seemingly chronic loneliness. Rhi had certainly never said anything to her out of the ordinary, and April had never gone out of her way to be cruel; but the dislike one had for the other was plain.  
  
Some strange whim owed to the Imp of the Perverse had somehow endeared Rhi to April's boyfriend Matt, though, despite what Rhi thought of as plain signs that she desired nothing more than to be left alone. After getting his first A ever on a Spanish project with Rhi as his partner, Matt had evidently found some odd comfort in the quiet girl's company and had sat with her at lunch daily (April had a different schedule) and next to her in class since then (April didn't see a foreign language as worth her while and had dropped French after the first required semester).  
  
Deep, easy breaths; long, sure pulls through the water, kick in and turn and tuck and push off the wall for another lap. Swimming was a great contemplative exercise: repetitive motion that allowed for free thinking while still looking good. Unfortunately, swimming made her think (as most things did) of the man who'd taught her to move through the water with such ease, and his painful absence. The fact that her face was in the water didn't stop a sob from catching in her throat as she tried to maintain her exhalation; eyes kept dry by Swedish racing goggles suddenly burned with tears. Partly out of frustration but more out of shame she made for the side of the pool and clung to the gutter there, praying the rush of recycling water would mask the deep, hiccoughing breaths she sucked in as quietly as possible.  
  
"Everything all right, Miss Abernathy?" the grating voice of the phys ed teacher boomed out across the tiled arena and Rhi furiously scrubbed at her leaky nose, thankful that chlorine and grief had the same red-rimming effect on the eyes.  
  
"Yes sir, just breathed with the wrong pipe," she rasped as loud as she could. Some of the class laughed.  
  
"Remember that the air is on the other side of the water, Miss Abernathy," the coach shouted back with amusement. "I don't have to teach y'all CPR till next week and I don't want to have to give a preview or anything!"  
  
Unkind giggles ground against Rhi's ears and against her better judgment, she turned to glance at April's enclave. The blonde lounged at the side of the pool with her friends, staring at Rhi with smug written all over artfully made-up faces. In that moment she didn't regret or mourn the fact that her father was dead; she utterly hated it, and she hated him for being gone.  
  
CHAPTER 2  
  
The high school bus was invented by some poor soul's parents who decided that he needed a lesson in humility. Even those who sat at the very rear of the great lumbering yellow gas-belcher were mortified by its presence in their lives, their dependence on this Twinkie-shaped apparition that trundled fartingly up the road to admit them to its embarrassed ranks. For freshmen it was a necessity until the greatly-anticipated Sixteenth Birthday, when everyone held fast to dreams of owning their own transportation; for sophomores it was a temporary means until enough money had been saved or given or earned for gas, or insurance, or Your Own Car itself. For juniors, a pressing reminder that they were rapidly losing ground in the uphill battle to be cool. For the rare seniors who didn't have or couldn't get a ride, it was only another reminder that they were in some way, shape or form repugnant to their peers who had cars, or to the people able to give them the means to get their own.  
  
For Rhiannon, this year a junior, it was simply another seventeen minutes of idiots that she had to suffer before reaching the quiet, not-quite- comfortable sanctuary that was hers and her mom's new home. She couldn't afford a car and she knew it, but she didn't much care; other than going to and from school where would she drive in this new, smaller place? So she sat in one of the middle seats and stared out the window, letting her mind wander where it would-so long as it stayed away from her father. She'd had enough of him for one day.  
  
A hand flashing up to pound on her window drew a surprised squeak from her. Looking down at the curb, she saw April's boyfriend Matt Green waving to her. She rolled down her window at his request. "Want a ride home, Rhi?" he asked, flashing a friendly grin that crinkled the corners of his kind brown eyes.  
  
"Thanks, but I don't think April would like that, unless you tied me to the roof or something." The lack of love lost between the two girls wasn't anyone's deepest secret.  
  
"Ah, forget about it. She's staying after for some meeting. Shotgun's yours if you want it."  
  
To her utmost surprise, Rhi found herself squeezing out of the plastic seat and jumping out of the bus. What was she doing? She didn't need April's all- girl goon squad hunting her down to beat her to death in a dark alley some night for messing around with her boyfriend. Not that she'd ever go out for any reason, and therefore the dark alley bit kind of became a moot point, but still..  
  
"Relax, Rhi!" Matt clapped a friendly hand on her shoulder. "It's just a ride home. I'm not gonna ransom you for gas money or anything." He led her through the maze of students and mismatched cars that was the student parking lot to one of the last spaces in the farthest row, where sat a bright red Jeep with vanity plates that read LKMA NOHDS.  
  
" 'Look Ma, No Hands'?" Rhi guessed as Matt struggled to fish his keys from his left pocket with his right hand, juggling his myriad of books and notebooks. He flashed her another infectious grin.  
  
"You got it. It's the way I passed my driver's test." "No handed?" "Well, yeah." "Oh." Suddenly riding home with Matt didn't sound like the safest plan anyone had ever suggested. Nevertheless, when Matt slid in on his side and swung the door open for her, she climbed into the Jeep.  
  
"April talks about you a lot, you know," Matt remarked suddenly as they pulled out of the lot. "It absolutely burns her that you're not falling all over yourself to be her friend."  
  
"Why would I want to?" Rhi asked coldly. Then she bit her tongue: this was, after all, April's boyfriend she was talking to. Badmouthing her might not be the best thing to do while Matt was driving.  
  
"See, that's what I asked her. And she got all mad and blew up at me- again." The rueful tone he adopted surprised Rhi. "She flies off the handle at every little thing, especially lately. I think the looming prospect of Prom is starting to get to her."  
  
"Prom?"  
  
"Yeah, Prom. You know, that thing where everyone gets dressed up, pays way too much for a crappy dinner, then tries to dance, smile and act normal without screwing up their heavily expensive clothes? April is determined to be the first girl to be Prom Queen two years in a row, and you wanna know what her reasoning is? 'Because I deserve it.' Never mind that there's other girls who should be given the chance, and never mind that I don't want to be on her campaign trail for the next month, and never mind that she treats everyone like crap including me so why are we all voting for her?"  
  
He exhaled sharply, thumping the steering wheel as the light down the block turned yellow. "I never make this damn light," he muttered.  
  
"You sound a little-um-upset by this whole Prom thing."  
  
He smiled at her a little tiredly. "It's just that-if she wins, hey, great, I'm glad for her. But then I have to stand up there with her, and dance with her afterwards, and smile and hold her scepter while she's shaking hands, and be the perfect mute gentleman while she and the King officiate or whatever it is they do. And you know who the big candidate for King is, don't you?"  
  
"I'm going to take a wild guess and say it's not you."  
  
"Nope. It's Adam Jonson."  
  
It took a moment of mental scramble before she recognized the name: he was the typical all-star, handsome quarterback of the football team. If memory served, he also wasn't the sharpest quill on the porcupine.  
  
"What's so bad about Adam Jonson?"  
  
"Nothing, not counting the fact that he tries to get down April's pants every chance he gets, whether I'm looking or not. If he's elected King and April's Queen.."  
  
"I don't think a little dance and waving at their adoring fans is gonna spawn a frantic session of wild animal sex there on the dance floor," Rhi pointed out.  
  
"No, probably not. But it doesn't help that he's the one she whips out when I'm not making her happy-which is all too often these days." He sighed, not needing to look at her puzzled face to see her confusion. "She's real fond of telling me that she could be just as happy with Adam, happier in fact- since he'll buy her what she wants and treat her like a real woman and agree with her and blah blah blah."  
  
"So tell her to go ahead, go off and be happy with him." The words were out of her mouth before she'd fully considered saying them.  
  
"You know, I really should, shouldn't I." Again his response took her completely by surprise. "Maybe I will."  
  
"This isn't the way to my house," she said timidly after a minute.  
  
"Nope," he agreed as they swung around a corner, "it's the way to mine. You can spare an hour or two to hang out, can't you? Pretend I need help with my Spanish."  
  
"I thought you said you weren't going to kidnap me for gas money."  
  
"No, I said I wouldn't ransom you-I never said anything about kidnapping. Besides, neither of us have anything to do" he glanced sidelong at her, "right?"  
  
"Right." She agreed.  
  
Mom was waiting at the dinner table when she got home.  
  
"I thought," she said, before Rhi could even say hello, "that we agreed that if you were going somewhere after school you'd call me at the office and tell me where you were." Her tone was completely calm and conversational, but Rhi could hear the ice running just below the surface.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mom, Matt gave me a ride home and then he needed help with his Spanish-"  
  
"And in the course of the intervening four hours you forgot about your compulsive worrier of a mother. I see."  
  
There was almost nothing worse than her mother's quiet anger. Rhi had often wondered if anyone else in the world could make a person feel like the lowest being on earth with simple inflection of the voice. Mom being mad and Dad being mad were two completely different things: Dad had a propensity to bellow and get quite red in the face, giving you something to feel indignant and perhaps unjustly accused about, drudging up your own anger to mask your guilt. But Mom gave you nothing to rail against, just used her own icy temper to needle through your pride and prick forth a glut of shame for making her angry in the first place.  
  
Rhi slunk into the hall to drop her bag near the stairs, stomach growling as she sniffed the aroma of her mother's lasagna. Returning to the dinner table, she slid into her seat, not looking at her mother.  
  
For a moment they ate in silence, then Ms. Abernathy sighed. "I'm sorry, Rhi, I was just so worried about you. I don't know any of your friends here and I don't know how well you know your way around. I have no idea of where to find you. You have to understand that that's just not something I can deal with right now." She coughed delicately. "You understand, don't you, honey?"  
  
"Yeah, Mom. And I really am sorry. I just didn't think."  
  
A hand reached out to smooth her hair. "It's all right, sweetie. Just call next time, please?" She returned to her lasagna. "Tell me about.what did you say his name is?"  
  
"Matt. And don't get your hopes up, Mom, there's nothing to tell. He's just a guy from school."  
  
"What did you two do for four hours?"  
  
"We just went over to his house. He wanted help with his Spanish, and then we went to that ice cream stand over by school-it's only about two blocks from his house." As soon as she said it, Rhi could tell Ms. Abernathy was making a mental map of possible locations for Matt's house. It was something she did whenever a new place of any kind was brought up, something Dad had loved about her. 'My Columbus', he'd called her. Rhi, sadly, had not inherited her mother's ability to mentally map out a town; she was as hopeless with directions as anyone could be.  
  
"Well, I'm glad you've finally started making friends, honey," Mom said. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"  
  
"Well, I thought we'd jet out to the French Riviera before class, grab some breakfast, then at lunch spin out to Tavern on the Green in New York.."  
  
Mom laughed and Rhi said, "One ride home doesn't mean I'm a social butterfly again, Mom."  
  
"I know, honey. I was just wondering, since I have an estate sale to cover for work tomorrow night and I didn't know if you were going to be out or not. It's fine if you are-just call me after school."  
  
"I don't think I will be."  
  
Ms. Abernathy's expression drooped a little. "Fast food okay for dinner, then?"  
  
"Perfect."  
  
Later, as she lay in bed listening to the rainfall outside, Rhi thought she heard the faint jangle of the phone somewhere in the house. She was about to dismiss the sound when Mom knocked on the door.  
  
"Rhi, it's Matt Green. Is he the young man from this afternoon?"  
  
"Yeah. Thanks, Mom." Taking the proffered cordless, Rhi re-shut the door and sat on the bed. "Hello?" she said curiously.  
  
"So you've been talking about me."  
  
"A little, yeah. What's up?"  
  
Matt's sigh into the phone sounded like a bad recording of an explosion. "Man, I thought I should warn you: April isn't happy that we hung out today."  
  
"Oh?" Rhi put as much nonchalance into her voice as she could.  
  
"Yeah. She assumed I was going to be available to ferry her around after her meeting with the principle, and I guess she called while we were getting ice cream this afternoon. When I got back from dropping you off, she called again. Man, I have never heard anyone swear like that. I didn't know April knew words that big."  
  
Rhi wiggled uncomfortably on the bedspread. "I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't think I'd get you in trouble."  
  
"Hey, don't be. It wasn't you chewing my ear off." He paused. "She threatened to dump me again. I almost took her up on it."  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
"I don't know. I guess I figured, it's so close to the end of the year, why end now? I mean, she'll be better once Prom's over and all this is done with and she's back working at the Sun Shoppe with all those lifeguards to drool over her."  
  
"Why do you put up with her, Matt? I mean, I don't think she's getting a lot out of your relationship and it's obvious you're not either."  
  
"Yeah, but you know, we've been together for three years, Rhi. And I mean, when she's not mad at me, or someone else, she's kinda nice to be around. And when she's actually in a good mood it's. in my best interest to be around her."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Yeah. So that's why."  
  
"You're with her, cuz when she's not berating you or beating you around or making you her chauffer, the sex is good?"  
  
There was a sound on the other end; Rhi couldn't tell if it was a cough, a laugh, or a sigh. "Basically, yeah."  
  
For some reason this caused Rhi's stomach to turn.  
  
"But here's the thing," Matt barged on, as if he'd suddenly decided to begin running again after declaring his withdrawal from a race. "She threatens to dump me, and occasionally does, at least three times a year. I used to think she did it just to give people something to talk about, but now I think she means it every time. And I wonder, why doesn't she stick with it? I mean, she always tells me she'll take me back if I do this or that or whatever, and I do, and then we're going out again and it's the same deal."  
  
"What if you didn't agree to her terms next time?"  
  
"You mean, just say 'no thanks, see ya later April, it's been fun'?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, has it been that much fun for you? You don't have to take that from her, Matt. You're smart and a nice enough guy, and I'm sure there's plenty of chicks at school who'd go out with you." The words were out of her mouth before she realized she'd said them.  
  
She could almost hear him smile on the other end. "There pro'ly are, aren't there?" Then he sighed. "Well, I'll let her drag me along for a while longer. I don't think she'll let it live past Prom. Maybe she'll shoot it to the ground before then."  
  
"Yes, but whoever would you go with then?" Rhi teased in a sugary bubblegum voice.  
  
"Well, I don't recall hearing that you had a date."  
  
Rhi covered her shock and momentary panic with a wry laugh. "If April hears that, she'll never let you go. Keep it in your hat as a scare tactic."  
  
Matt laughed in return. "I will, don't worry."  
  
Later, against her better judgment, Rhiannon would mull over those three lines of dialogue as she changed for bed. She couldn't fathom anyone at this new school having the slightest interest in her. Back home she and her boyfriend Dan had been dating for a year and a half before her father's accident; they'd even begun discussing what to do about their relationship after high school. It had probably been just as well that Rhi had been forced to move; Dan was all for the two of them going to the same college near their old neighborhood and being together the rest of their lives, while Rhi was beginning to feel the first pangs of wanderlust and avidly seeking materials from out-of-state universities. What wonderful irony that she'd been plopped here, in the middle of upper-middle-class suburban hell, and would give pretty much anything to be living in her old neighborhood again. It was times like these that she missed Dan, and Mia and Annie and all her friends back home the most.  
  
But not as much as she missed her father.  
  
He'd never been comfortable with the idea of Rhi dating; her mother had called it "Daddy's Little Girl" Syndrome. Any time Dan was around, her father had stood his tallest and squared his shoulders as broad as they'd go, as if to remind the young man that he was the one who'd taught Rhi how to box and swim and defend herself against the likes of him.  
  
Perhaps it was this line of thinking that drew him into her dreams that night. Although her mother had done a brief stint on the therapist's couch after her husband's death, Rhi had refused counseling, preferring to handle the nightmares and sudden attacks of weeping on her own. Tonight, however, as she sat bolt upright in bed, huddled shaking and sweating around a lump of ice in her middle, she felt as though a turn in the shrink's office might do some good. Nightmares like that shouldn't come to anyone, even if they'd lost their father.  
  
Rhi had been standing at the door to a church in a wedding dress, handfasted with a faceless young man in a tuxedo. Her father had barged through their joined hands, seizing her wrists and dragging her with him as he stormed through the church, ripping apart decorations and guests alike, screaming "It can't happen if I can't watch!" in a child's high, panicked voice. Force of habit made Rhi bite into her pillow to stifle her screams, lest she wake her mother. She'd had nightmares about her father ever since his death. They never got any better and she had no control over any of them, and she could never return to sleep after one. Rhi curled around a pillow, shivering in the warm night, until finally the alarm at her bedside shrilled for her to get up for school.  
  
Mercifully April left Rhi alone the next day-or rather, she didn't talk to her or come near her. If looks could kill, however, Rhi would have probably died a hundred deaths too horrid to mention. The sleep-deprived Rhiannon didn't notice. Her wakeful night had left her sore and tired, as though she'd been in a fight with a Mack truck, and lost. Matt, noticing her taciturnity and failing in his several attempts to get her to talk, woundedly let her sit alone at lunch and ate with some of his other friends. Rhi was sorry he felt guilty over her current state of mind but lacked the impetus to try and mend his feelings. The greatest blessing of her day came when the final bell screamed and she could go home.  
  
It seemed the release from class was a release for whatever social rules governed the world of April and her bubblegum clutch-pigs. As Rhi trudged out towards the waiting refuge of her bus, she heard someone behind her say her name. Wearily she turned just outside of the doors, books hugged to her skinny chest, and was instantly circled by April and her bleached posse.  
  
"I realize you're new here, and things might have been different where you come from," April began, manicured hands on hips. Rhi leaned against the comfort of the brick wall behind her, all too aware of her weariness and the sore fact that she was severely outnumbered. "But you know that Matt is my boyfriend. And you know that you can't have him. And you must know that I'm not going to let you take him from me." The shorter blonde took two steps closer to Rhi, obviously meaning to be threatening. To Rhi it only emphasized the fact that she was six inches taller than April. "So I'm going to say this one time only: stay away from my boyfriend. Understand?"  
  
Weariness slid into frustration and became anger quicker than Rhi could register the change. Straightening, she glared down at April with all the indignation and contempt she could muster. "Look, kiddo," she said, voice dropping to the whiskey depths of her throat, "I don't give a flying fuck what or who in this school you consider to be yours. In fact, I don't give a flying fuck about you, or any of your all-girl goon squad here. I have had a long day and I don't have time or patience to suffer idiots." Rudely she pushed past April and through the stunned circle of clones.  
  
"I'm not done with you!" April hurried after her a ways, snatching at Rhi's bag and yanking her back a step. Rhi turned, fists clenching, but she didn't hit her.  
  
"Let's get one thing straight: I don't like you-"  
  
"And I don't care." Rhi mounted the steps of the bus as the driver turned the ignition and slammed the doors shut against the blue clouds of diesel rising from the other buses. April walked along the body of the bus, matching Rhi's progress as she found a seat. As she sat, Rhi could dimly hear the blonde's indignant curses over the roar of many engines revving up. Just as the bus pulled out, Rhi gave a sardonic little wave to the red- faced girl outside her window and flipped her the finger.  
  
Her routine as soon as she reached home couldn't have been planned or rehearsed more smoothly: dropping her bag in the front hall, double- checking the lock on the doors, she then took the stairs two at a time to her room, digging out a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt and the long rolls of cotton bands kept in her sock drawer. Then it was down the stairs to the basement, where under one of the bare lightbulbs stood her punching bag and a few old gym mats.  
  
Dad had taught her how to box when third-grade bullies began teasing Rhi about her explosive growth spurts; Mom had given this supremely apt gift for her thirteenth birthday, along with two sets of the cotton wraps she wound tightly around her wrists and knuckles. She ignored the gloves hanging from a nail on the wall; Rhi preferred going bare-knuckled against the bag-it seemed to bleed off more tension than the padded gloves. She'd split the skin on the backs of her fingers every day the week after Dad's accident. The callouses and scars that remained were tender enough to goad her anger, and soon Rhi was pouring sweat as she rained furious hooks and jabs at the helpless canvas.  
  
It took almost an hour for Rhiannon to exhaust her fury, and when she finally trudged back up the stairs, arms and hands burning, there was nothing on her mind but the need for deep draughts of water and a cool shower. From kitchen to bathroom to bedroom to kitchen for another drink, she passed the answering machine a total of three times before noticing the message light blinking furiously.  
  
The first two messages were for Ms. Abernathy: social offers from her friend Carol at the collector's antiques agency they worked for, and the other from a man named Andrew whom Rhi had never heard her Mom mention. The third and fourth messages were from Matt. "Hey, Rhi, it's Matt Green." A pause. "Listen, I heard about what happened today with April, and I'm really sorry. Um, why don't you give me a call back sometime this afternoon. It's about three now, and my number is.I think you have it, but here it is anyways-"  
  
Rhi hit "delete" before Matt could rattle off his phone number. The last thing she needed to do was give April more cause to bother her about staying away from her boyfriend.  
  
The fourth message weakened her resolve. "Hi, Rhi, it's me again. I called about an hour ago, but I guess you're, uh, busy or out or something.." Matt's voice was excited but forlorn, apparently at the thought of her doing something fun without him. She heard him take a deep breath. "Look, I don't know if you're gonna want to call me, so I'll tell you now: April and I broke up, and I'm making it for good this time. What she did to you today was completely un called for, and you didn't deserve that kind of ambush. So-I'm kinda sans date for Prom, and I, uh, I'd like to ask you to go with me, if that's ok." There followed a kind of strangled laugh. "Call me back, or don't, and I'll talk to you tomorrow, ok? Bye."  
  
The burning in her fatigued arms and shoulders leadened itself until Rhi felt like she was made of stone. The machine beeped once, twice, pleading with her to hit either "save" or "delete" and decide the message's fate. Her mind was blank for the barest second before it began to spin madly, tossing random ideas up like popcorn in Ms. Abernathy's old-fashioned air popper. How---why---what the hell did he think---how dare he---April's gonna---fuck April, what am I---  
  
Call him back? Not likely. For some reason Rhi felt more insulted than she'd ever been in her life. A rebound date? Her? At Prom? Not bloody fucking likely. The machine beeped pathetically, and Rhi jammed one bruised finger on the "delete" button without a second thought.  
  
She'd calmed down quite a bit by the time Ms. Abernathy came home, bearing a greasy bag full of fries and burgers dripping with cheese and special sauce. She and Rhi sat at the table, chewing in contented silence for a while, before Mom broached the topic of The Day.  
  
"So how was school, honey?" Ms. Abernathy didn't have to look at Rhi's hands to know she'd been hitting the bag pretty hard, nor did she have to ask her daughter about the mood to do so.  
  
"Eh," Rhi replied around a mouthful of burger. *AP= Advanced Placement. A college credit system in place in thousands of high schools around the country whereby students can earn collegiate credit by earning a score of 3,4, or 5 on the AP test in the subject of their choice. AP credits are incompatible with the more obscure and less-accepted International Baccalaureate (IB) credits offered by other, perhaps less exacting, high schools. 


	2. Life Too Ordinary

"Don't grunt, Rhiannon, and sit up straight. Now, what happened at school to make you bust your knuckles so badly? Does it have something to do with that boy?"  
  
Rhi sighed. Her teenage instincts--those she shared with nearly every other seventeen-year-old in the world--resisted telling her mother things with the stubbornness of a slighted two-year-old, but having no one else to talk to....(you could always talk to Matt, her brain hissed; she mentally told herself to shut up) Mom wasn't a bad choice.  
  
"Matt's girlfriend doesn't like him to have female friends. It's not a big deal, really, she's just being..." immature, selfish, snotty, bitchy, piggish, blonde, dumb, ridiculous, infantile, bratty, impudent, idiotic, self-centered, a jerk... "obtuse," Rhi finished, popping a fry into her mouth. "And she and I don't get along, so it's not easy hanging out with him."  
  
"No, I suppose not." Ms. Abernathy didn't sound convinced or unconvinced either way, and Rhi hoped she'd change the subject. She hoped for too much. "Isn't it about time for Prom, or the Spring Debutante ball or something like that?"  
  
"Something like that, I'm sure." Rhi took another big bite of burger to avoid being made to say more.  
  
"Are you going?"  
  
"Prol'ly not."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Who would I go with?" Rhi retorted, swallowing.   
  
"What about this Matt?"  
  
"All well and good, Mom, except, remember that whole bit about his girlfriend?"  
  
"Is she bothering you, Rhiannon? Is there trouble with you two at school?"  
  
"April is absolutely nothing I can't handle," Rhi growled, like a hunting cat with steel teeth.  
  
"That's not what I asked. I know you can handle yourself, and anyone else besides. What I asked--"  
  
"It's fine, Mom. Please, believe me--it's nothing."  
  
"All right." There followed a few moments' silence while Ms. Abernathy finished her french fries. Wiping her fingers on a paper napkin, she took a deep breath and said, "Well, maybe I have something that might make you feel better." She retrieved her purse from the kitchen and produced a glossy magazine, which she flipped through expectantly and presented to her daughter. An estate catalogue, Rhi saw, with some very impressive antiques in it. Ms. Abernathy pointed to a Tiffany-style lamp with a shade decorated in jewelled flowers. "I saw this at the collector's preview of this sale today, and thought you might like it. What do you think?"  
  
"It's very nice, Mom--" Rhi stopped, her attention inexplicably drawn to a tiny thumbnail photo on the opposite page. Squinting, she asked, "What's this?"  
  
Ms. Abernathy bent over to look, then sighed. "Magnificent, isn't it? None of the other appraisers could agree on how old it must be, but I'm sure it's from beyond the eighteen hundreds. There's nothing in the house quite like it, though the previous owners had several old chests--steamer trunks and hope chests and whatnot--in the same style, but none of them were half as old. The frame says baroque, but there's no way that mirror can be that young."  
  
"Are there flaws in the glass?" Rhi asked, almost startled to hear herself speak. In the photo, the full-length dressing mirror looked absolutely perfect, its silvered surface gleaming like water in the flash of the photographer's camera. The frame was dark and moody like oak, but soemthing told Rhi it was made not of wood, but metal.  
  
"Strangely enough, no. The materials used, however, went out of fashion in the late eighteen-fifties. Of course I couldn't open it up, but I'd almost bet money that the back is either mercury or pure silver, not polished tin or nickel."  
  
"Who bought it?"  
  
"No one, isn't that odd? It's a monster, to be sure, taller than you--but there's structurally and design-wise, nothing wrong with it. Carol could barely tear me away from it, it was almost mesmerizing. I wish you could see it, but there's light etching and chasing along the frame in a very distinctive pattern. I sketched it--" Ms. Abernathy produced a steno pad with a couple pencil-line drawings on it-- " and I swear, I was nearly hypnotized by the time I was done."  
  
Rhi stared at the skeletal drawings, strangely fascinated. Though Ms. Abernathy had the same precise and detailed eye all of her colleagues when it came to the items they bought and traded, these drawings were unusually fine, as though the graphite on the page could at any moment rise into the third dimension and become real.   
  
"It's still up for sale, Rhi..." Mom's voice broke in, and Rhi was startled to realize her nose was inches from the notepad.   
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah, and since tomorrow's the last day of the sale the lawyers will want to get rid of a lot of things...do you want me to see if I can't get my hands on it?"  
  
"Sure....wow, Mom." Rhi laughed, a trifle embarrassed. "It's...kinda wierd, but I really really want that mirror."  
  
"Oh, hon, if you could have seen the looks some of the other appraisers gave it--one of those Pottery Barn snobs was staring at it like a side of beef! It's that style that isn't really appropriate for many of the mainstream catalogues, but I think our firm will ok my nabbing it."  
  
"Ok, cool..." Rhi popped one of the few remaining fries into her mouth, eyes still on the sketches and the little photo in the sale catalogue. She couldn't remember being so excited about an object in a very, very long time. 


	3. A Decent Proposal

Rhi only realized she was at school the next day when one of April's goonies purposely bumped into her between second and third periods. The shining brunette gave her a nasty, venomous look, then swept off down the hall, her hair swinging behind her like a shampoo commercial. Rhi was tempted to shake her head, trying to clear it of the haze through which she'd been operating that whole morning. There was a constant anticipation, a need for the day to be over so she could get home and find out if Mom had been able to get The Mirror. It capitalized itself in her brain, looming over classes and notes and even Matt's lost-puppy presence as he warily shadowed her, never quite following, but ending up in the same places nevertheless. Finally at lunch he dared approach her, mindful of that dreamy air she'd been floating in all day. He didn't even begin to hope the haze was due to something he'd done; despite her hopes to the contrary, Matt Green had Rhi Abernathy figured out quite well.  
  
"Hey, Rhi, how's it going," Matt began nervously, settling his tray across the lunch table from her. Her eyes regained their focus, and for a moment she looked at him almost normally. Then her green eyes narrowed, and she regarded him suspiciously-at best. She unwrapped her sandwich and took an almost angry bite.  
  
"What? What'd I do?" he asked, bewildered. When she didn't answer right away, his voice softened and he asked, "Did you think about my message yesterday?"  
  
"Matt," Rhi began, almost angrily, then she set down her sandwich and sighed. "Matt, you know I can't go with you. It's not that I don't like you, it's just-"  
  
"Then why?" It was his turn to be angry, and that surprised him. "Why not, Rhi? I know we're just friends, and I don't want to change that. I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend or whatever-I just want a date to Prom, and I think you'd be pretty cool to go with."  
  
"Are you forgetting your girlfriend, Matt?"  
  
"I broke up with her! Remember?"  
  
"Yeah, I know that and you know that. She doesn't seem to want to get that into her head, and I'm not going to be turned into some kind of slut because everyone thinks I broke you two up."  
  
"Since when do you care what people think about you?"  
  
"Since I'm sick of being harassed whenever I go down the hall! Since I'm tired of listening to her threats and having her boobs run into me in the halls because she's told them I'm the source of all her problems!" Rhi knew her voice was rising and found she didn't care. "Since I'm sick of sitting at an empty table at lunch and never having a lab partner and riding the damn bus alone and being fucking invisible!"  
  
Matt sat back as though she'd struck him. "I know you don't like other people, Rhi, but you can't blame April for-"  
  
"For what? Sending her cheerleader secret service after me every chance she gets?"  
  
"For your absolute determination to be a social pariah!" He riposted, startling her. "You don't make any effort to become part of anything here! I know it's different from your old school, but there are people here and groups-"  
  
"Why should I want to be a part of them? Why should I want to know anybody at this suburban hellhole?" Crumpling the brown bag in her fist, Rhi smashed the remainder of her sandwich back into the wrapper and moved to stand up. Matt's hand shot out, seizing her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. She stared at him, stunned-it had been a very long time since anyone had dared touch her without her permission.  
  
"You don't want to go with me, fine," Matt growled, his grip like steel. "But you have to know that your supposed social exile at this school is eighty-five percent your own fault. April isn't that influential, no matter what you or she thinks. You're determined, since day one, to not fit in and not like anyone. My invitation was simply an opportunity for you to maybe get out of your little hole and see a bit of the world. If you want to stay hidden underground forever-" he released her wrist, "fine."  
  
She sat there for a moment, unable to think of anything to say. Matt turned his attention entirely to the school lunch before him and would not look at her. Finally, with a growl that was half sob, she got up, threw away her lunch, and left the lunchroom as fast as she could. 


	4. Pariah

The rest of the day was, simply put, hell for Rhiannon. First on the bus to go home, practically forcing the lock on the front door to get in the house and down to the basement, she struggled against some strange emotion that threatened to bring up what little lunch she'd eaten and leave her sobbing with frustration. Not even a fierce session with her punching bag could purge the raging guilt she felt. Matt was right, and she knew it, but was so loath to admit it that by the time she unwrapped her bloodstained knuckles and stripped to take a shower, she'd practically forgotten about her other obsession—the promised Mirror.  
  
The shock of cold water seemed to clear her head somewhat. She would simply have to talk to Matt, Rhi decided, conveniently forgetting that was precisely what she'd been avoiding doing all week. She'd have to apologize for hurting his feelings, but not go far enough for him to ask her to Prom again—but just enough for him to take back what he'd said about her. Social pariah? Her? Hardly. Rhi wondered if he would just hang up when he heard her voice over the phone. Her state of mind was such that she decided not to take that chance. As soon as she was dressed, she left a note for Mom and, wheeling her bike out of the garage, set out to talk to Matt in person.  
  
As she pedaled across the five miles separating her from Matt (mostly uphill, she'd sorely realize later), Rhi mapped out what she'd say to him, how their entire conversation would go. She, appropriately contrite, would be forgiven immediately—or would she? What if some kind of negotiation or finesse was needed? Turning on the charm from the outset would probably be a good idea, and she could notch it up as needed. Matt, however, suddenly seemed the long-winded type—what if he just stood at the door berating her, never letting her get a word in edgewise? What if he wanted to apologize too, and she never got the chance to admit he was her only friend here? All of the what ifs rolled through her head as her tires spun the road out behind her, chugging along with her slightly ragged breaths and protesting muscles.  
  
Rounding the last corner, dismay hit Rhi head-on as she saw a group of guys splayed across the lawn and street from Matt's house, tossing a Frisbee from curb to curb. Despite the casual atmosphere, each catch was more elaborate than the last: through the legs, in midair, on one finger to be spun like a plate. Matt himself seemed to reserve his more spectacular moves, but nonetheless his talent with a Frisbee was obvious.  
  
I can't say all that stuff in front of all these guys—how can I even talk to him when everyone's around—what if he won't talk to me? Why the hell does he have people over when I need to apologize, dammit? Panic swirled through her carefully-planned conversation, sweeping away the solemnity and gravity she'd piled on her apology.  
  
Matt spied her still halfway down the block and waved, turning his head to excuse himself, and jogged towards her. As he neared, Rhi could see no resentment, no anger on his face—resignation, sure, and perhaps a little reservation. He probably thinks I'm going to hit him or something, she realized, and scrabbled frantically for something that would show him she meant just the opposite.  
  
"Hey, Rhi, what's up?" Matt asked, and to hear so casual a question Rhi's stomach flip-flopped. It was as though he wasn't even aware of the situation, of how important this was that she get it all out in the manner she'd planned, so she could go home and stop feeling sick over this first fight with her only friend. Rhi opened her mouth to say something, praying for an appropriate witticism, some clever anecdote that would make everything ok.  
  
She got as far as a croaky "Matt—"before her voice failed. She couldn't believe that she felt tears threatening, and nothing had been said yet! He immediately looked concerned.  
  
"Rhi, what is it? Is everything ok? What—"Suddenly words were the least important things in the world—actions speak louder, she thought, and Rhi reached over to grab Matt's head and plant a rough kiss square on his mouth.  
  
Later, when she'd calmed down again, Rhi would reflect that it was the first time in at least six months that she'd kissed a boy. Dan, her ex from home, had been a hell of a kisser, and their break-up kiss had almost changed her mind. There was nothing elegant, or suave, or even really romantic, about this one, however: just Rhi's lips pressed against Matt's, the breath whistling through their noses in twin shocked inhalations. Rhi gripped his head tight until a wolf whistle from down the street pierced the fearful hollow of her ear—then she practically threw him away from her, as bewildered with the kiss as he was.  
  
"I—"she swallowed hard, knowing her face was either deathly pale or beet red, feeling sweat trickle down her spine and between her breasts.  
  
"I'm sorry." Rhi said it simply, then wheeled her bike around and set off back down the street. As she rounded the corner again, she realized she felt better than she had in days.  
  
It took a Frisbee to the head for Matt to come around.  
  
________________________________________________ 


	5. For the First Time

By the time she reached home, Rhi was feeling normal again, though a small part of her—a surprisingly small part—cringed at what Matt's reaction was to her inexplicable apology. Maneuvering around Mom's car in the driveway, Rhi remembered the Mirror—and only the idea of her bike being stolen made her put it away in the garage before sprinting into the house.  
  
Ms. Abernathy slumped on the couch in the living room, business suit rumpled and sweaty. "Oh sure, now you get home," she grumbled, wiping her face on her sleeve. "Do you know how long this damn thing took to get in the house? How long I had to take to even get it in the car? Not only that—those Pottery Barn clones came armed to the teeth today! The bidding was close enough that—"  
  
The brown-paper-wrapped monolith in the center of the living room had to be at least six and a half feet tall, owing at least a few inches, no doubt, to the layers of bubble wrap and masking tape that swathed it like bunting. Rhi circled it like a jackal, drinking in even its concealed form with ardor and anticipation she'd never thought possible. Reaching out a hand to tug at an unstuck corner of tape, she pulled back as though stung.  
  
Ms. Abernathy laughed. "Well, go on, Rhi, it's yours. It won't bite, I promise—I lugged the damn thing all the way from the auctioneer's, so I know!"  
  
Rhi tugged tentatively at the loosened tape, then as the wrapping began to fall, she tore at the padding with increasing gusto. How much bubble wrap can you really put on one object? Her brain cried in frustration, but with one last yank, the binding fell to the floor.  
  
It wasn't as though the sun had broken through storm clouds, or that someone had thrown the shutters open in a dark room—but as soon as the paper and bubble wrap crumpled away from the mirror, Rhi could feel something seize her heart in a fierce grip. It was—it was like a sigh of—of immense power, she thought, her brain stuttering over the simple cognitive function; like standing at the mouth of a cave and feeling a dragon exhale. A really big dragon. The frame as wood, solid wood, very darkly polished, with sheen like ebony and no scratches visible. Only in the swirling carved traceries meandering around its edge could Rhi detect any sign of what must have been great age: flaking tendrils silver leaf that left shadows in places where it had come away. The glass itself was polished brightly as well, and as Rhi looked at her reflection, she got the strangest sensation—as though she were staring at herself through a thin wall of still water. Then she actually looked at her reflection, and her heart nearly stopped.  
  
Could you pick yourself out of a crowd? Of course, everyone can identify the face they see over the sink, brushing their teeth every morning, but how many small details—the true shape of an eye or lip, the actual color of the blushing skin above the cheekbones, the contrasting paleness under an eyebrow—could you truly, confidently claim as yours? Could you pick yourself out of a lineup? Could you, really?  
  
For a breathless moment Rhi swore she looked at someone else, that some other six-foot-tall, skinny swimmer stared out from this mirror. The other girl had her father's thick black hair, the same light olive skin, her mother's wide green eyes and expressive, narrow lips—but there the similarities ended. There was a—something about this other girl—  
  
"What do you think?" Ms. Abernathy asked, stepping into the reflection and placing a hand on Rhi's shoulder. Realizing she had not done so in a while, Rhi sucked in a breath, and the world—and her image—returned to normal. "It's amazing," she breathed. "How—what is it with the glass?"  
  
"Extraordinary, isn't it?" Ms. Abernathy stepped behind the frame, and as she followed, Rhi was surprised to see another reflection on the other side, just as flawless. "The frame is so thick because the mirror is actually a layer of quicksilver pressed between two pieces of glass—at least, that's what the selling appraiser told me. The quicksilver is drawn up in a partial vacuum and then sealed between the glasses, to keep the coverage absolutely even the whole way up. I've heard of it being done, but never of a piece that survived this long, or in this condition. That's why this is still here," Ms.Abernathy tapped a fingernail on the protective metal frame that still surrounded the mirror. Rhi hadn't even noticed it was there. "There's no wood on the back to protect it from damage. I was really lucky—even though we can't use mercury any more, I'm sure some other catalogue would have loved to secure this for a prototype. Look, you can kind of see through it...."  
  
The faint outlines of the TV and couch were visible through the looking glass. "But Mom, isn't mercury kind of dangerous?"  
  
Ms. Abernathy touched the glass lightly, even reverently. "Yes, but this is completely sealed inside the glass—if there were any kind of leak, the vacuum would be broken and it would all settle to the bottom, see? The way this glass was made, nothing can escape, not even vapors. If this ever breaks—"she cast a warning sidelong glance at her daughter, "we'd probably have to move out for a while and have the house decontaminated. There's enough quicksilver in there to do a lot of damage." Rhi nodded. She knew with a deep certainty that there wasn't a lot she'd let harm this Mirror—or that the Mirror would allow to harm It.  
  
"By the way, Rhi," Ms. Abernathy said, wiping her brow after the two of them had carefully moved the Mirror down the hall and into Rhi's bedroom, "what are your plans for the night?"  
  
Rhi looked up from unscrewing the last nut that held the front of the Mirror's protective frame together. "Same as every other night—not much. Why?"  
  
"Well..." Ms. Abernathy carefully removed the tubing and set it against the doorjamb. "Um, one of the men from work—a few people, actually, including Carol...you remember Carol, right?" Rhi nodded; she'd met the bright-toothed saleswoman with the improbably coppery hair once or twice. Ms. Abernathy sighed and ran a hand through her sweaty hair. Could Mom actually be nervous? Rhi wondered suddenly. About what?  
  
"Well, Carol and—and a few others are going out for a little while tonight, and they—she invited me along. You know, dinner and congratulating ourselves on the purchases we made at the sale."  
  
Rhi suddenly remembered a man's voice on their answering machine: "Hi, Marienne, this is Andrew Stewart from work..."  
  
"Is, um...what's his name? Andrew? Is he going to be there?" Rhi asked casually.  
  
"It's not a date, Rhiannon, it's a group of us going out for dinner!" Ms. Abernathy retorted in a rush. "Yes, Andrew will be there, but we're just friendly colleagues and anyway, don't you think I'd think twice about dating someone I work so closely with?"  
  
"Way to answer all the questions I wasn't going to ask, Mom." Rhi stood up, towering over her mother for a moment. Then she smiled. "Relax, Mom. Go with your friends. I'll be fine."  
  
"Are you sure?" Mom was already halfway down the hall towards her own room. "I know we haven't eaten yet—I'll give you pizza money if you'd like, Carol said she'd call me around six-thirty and let me know where we're going..." A moment later the shower in the bathroom sprang to sputtering life and her words were lost.  
  
"Sure, Mom!" 


	6. It's Just Dinner

Just as the phone began to ring, Ms. Abernathy raced from her bedroom to the hall phone as if she'd been stuck with a pin. Snatching it up on the second ring, she panted a breathless greeting, straightening her half- buttoned blouse. Rhi bit into her pillow to stop herself laughing at her mother through her open door.  
  
"Love the look, Mom," she called as Ms. Abernathy hung up. "But, um, I think the no shirt no shoes no service rule has a no pants clause attached to it...."  
  
Mom actually pulled a face at Rhi. "I hadn't finished getting dressed, young lady," she informed her daughter primly, tugging her blouse down a little further over her pantyhosed waist. Rhi rolled off her bed (where she'd been gazing at the Mirror's intricate silver gilt for the last twenty minutes) to give her mother a critical once-over.  
  
"You haven't worn green in a long time," she said finally, furrowing her brow at the several undone buttons on the collar of the shirt. "Does that mean Andrew Stewart is going with you?"  
  
"He might be there, yes," Ms. Abernathy said with deceptive mildness as she strolled back into her bedroom and sat at her dressing table to finish applying her makeup. The vivid hunter-green top made her chestnut hair seem more auburn, an effect Rhi knew her mother used when she wanted to impress people.  
  
"I thought you said it wasn't a date."  
  
"It's not, Rhi, I told you. It's just dinner. And Carol's the one who invited me in the first place."  
  
"But this Andrew is going to be there."  
  
"He might, Rhi. Do you honestly have a problem with that?" Ms. Abernathy turned on her stool to face her daughter, who leaned against the doorframe.  
  
Rhi was quiet for a moment. "Do you like him?" she asked.  
  
"Andrew is a very nice man, and I do enjoy working with him. Beyond that I don't know, I haven't been at this office for very long."  
  
"Do you think you will like him?"  
  
"Rhi—"Ms. Abernathy's tone changed, becoming more concerned than annoyed. "Honey, do you have a problem with me dating? Is that what this is about?"  
  
Rhi shrugged and looked down at her bare feet.  
  
"Rhiannon, this isn't a date. And if I go out with these people again, it will not be a date. Not for a long time yet. I don't—Rhi, I don't know when I'll...there's no set time for these things," she said finally, "and I know it's...it's only been six months. It's not a date, Rhi," she finished in a low voice. Rhiannon knew that if this conversation continued, there would be tears from one or the other of them in no time at all. "I'm just going out for dinner. OK?"  
  
"OK, Mom." Still looking at the floor, Rhi turned, but before she could leave the room Ms. Abernathy had caught her in a fierce hug. For a moment, they stood there, holding each other, and Rhi was afraid that despite the resolution she would start crying. No tears had escaped, however, only tension, when she let her mother go. Ms. Abernathy spared her a watery smile before turning to the open jewelry box on her desk. As she selected a pair of peridot drops to slide into her earlobes, Rhi left the room.  
  
She'd just sat down on the bed again, just reached a gentle, tentative finger to trace a tendril of silver at the Mirror's edge, when the doorbell rang. Again she padded out into the hall to see her mother fling open her bedroom door, teetering on heels she hadn't quite gotten all the way on her feet yet.  
  
"Mom!" Ms. Abernathy turned, exasperated, to see her daughter barely holding back laughter behind one hand. "Mom, would you please put some pants on?" Ms. Abernathy squealed in startlement, looking down at her nylon- covered legs, and dashed back into her bedroom.  
  
"Get the door, Rhi!" she yelled as Rhi doubled over in laughter in the hallway. Still giggling, Rhi strolled to the door, calming her chuckles and schooling her face into the stern, uninterested look she wore at school daily. Hoping she presented an imposing picture, she swung the front door open.  
  
Outside stood a tall, stocky man with the reddest hair and beard Rhi had ever seen. Very blue eyes stood out in a pale face, seeming startled for a moment by the tall, stoic girl who held the door open, obviously waiting for an introduction.  
  
"Uh, hi. I'm Andrew Stewart. Is, um, is Marienne Abernathy home?" Rhi shook his proffered hand exactly once—up, down, release—before widening the door and stepping back.  
  
"She'll be ready in a moment. You should come in." Rhiannon struggled to maintain her careful, stony mask, all the while her brain roared with laughter. Andrew Stewart, obviously bewildered by her even, unemotional tone, stepped over the threshold and into the living room.  
  
"You, uh, you must be Rhiannon!" She had to give him points for pronouncing her name correctly, at least—most people called her Ree-ann-non, rather than the proper Irish Ree-anon. Mom must talk about me a lot.  
  
"Your mother has told us all a lot about you," Andrew Stewart continued nervously, and Rhi allowed herself a smirk. She motioned for him to have a seat and went to the hallway.  
  
"Mom, there is a gentleman here to meet you!" Rhi called, keeping her voice pleasantly even. Turning back to the obviously nervous redhead on the couch, she asked, "May I get you anything to drink, Mr. Stewart?"  
  
"No, no thank you. And please, uh, call me Andrew." From the sidelong glance he gave her, it was obvious he didn't entirely trust this unnaturally calm girl who seated herself across from him on the divan. He glanced around the living room, trying to make her understand by his looks that he liked the place—for she said nothing, only stared at him with a kind of detached, unnerving interest, as though he were a lightening bug she'd trapped in a jar. When Marienne finally entered the room, he almost jumped to his feet.  
  
"Ah, and how are you two getting along?" she asked briskly, going to the closet by the door for a light coat. Andrew rattled out some appropriate, hasty response, managing in one breath to remark on Rhi's delightful nature and compliment Marienne's outfit. Though Rhi's expression didn't change, she regarded her mother with a critical eye, noting the care that had gone into the selection of earrings, hair clip and bracelet—all matching, set with peridot—that complimented her hunter-green silk blouse and wide-legged black trousers. But as Ms. Abernathy swung the summer-weight pea coat over her shoulders—for the evening was still cool—Rhi caught the glint of gold on her left hand: the engagement and wedding rings from her father. Good. Suddenly she didn't distrust this Andrew Stewart quite so much.  
  
"I shouldn't be too late, hon," Ms. Abernathy said, fishing in her pocketbook. "Here's some pizza money, and I expect to get the change back! Please stay home, and if there's any problem, call Carol's cell phone; the number's on the fridge. OK?"  
  
"Have a good time, Mom." Rhi said, bending so she could kiss her mother good bye. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Andrew Stewart," she called in that same unnerving voice as the door closed behind them. She managed to count to ten before breaking out in giggles again.  
  
"She pulled the Lurch routine on you, didn't she?" Marienne said as she dropped her keys into her pocketbook and they hurried down the walk to Carol's waiting car.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Rhi—she gave you that unnatural Zen-master stare. I could hear her from my room...sorry it took me so long to get ready," she added.  
  
Andrew laughed, a trifle nervously. "It was no problem. So she really isn't like that all the time?"  
  
Marienne snorted. "My daughter? No. She has her father's temper, and his view on solving conflicts: a hammer can fix anything. No, she likes doing the whole robot bit to my friends sometimes. Puts them off-guard so she can laugh at their responses...another thing I wish she hadn't picked up from James."  
  
Rhi watched from the front window as Andrew Stewart held the door open for her mother, and then slid into the backseat before the car took off down the street. Sighing, she dropped the blinds over the window again, and plopped down on the couch. Brief channel-surfing did nothing for her, other than to remind her that she was ravenously hungry. She picked out a likely- looking pizza place from the phone book and dialed idly, ordering a sausage, pepperoni and pineapple with extra cheese, then wandered aimlessly for twenty minutes before the delivery guy showed up.  
  
Matt arrived with the pizza. 


	7. What's 'Just Dinner' Mean?

He stood behind the delivery guy while Rhi counted out the bill and the tip, then deftly relieved the boy of his steaming burden and stepped through the door as though Rhi wasn't even standing there, mouth set in a firm, unpleasant line that bordered on a scowl. Matt set the pizza on the coffee table an d pulled the footstool up, looking for all the world as though this were a normal Friday night ritual between them: share a pizza, rehash the week, plan the weekend—

"What are you doing?" Rhi finally found her voice.

Matt opened the box, sniffing appreciatively at the wafting scent of pepperoni and cheese. "Well, as I understand it, the process is supposed to go dinner, movie, _then_ first kiss. But I guess since we got the last one out of the way, we can skip the movie, and hey! Here's dinner." When Rhi made no reply, only stared at him, he offered a sheepish grin. "You're the most confusing person I know, Rhiannon Abernathy. Absolutely and without a doubt."

Rhi escaped to the kitchen, breathing deeply as she retrieved napkins and sodas, hoping her face wasn't as red as it felt when she reemerged. "I suppose I owe you an explanation, huh?"

"Is there one?"

"Not really," she said frankly, pulling an oozing slice from the cooling pizza. "I mean, I could say that I get things in my head sometimes that, I dunno, ricochet around and drive me nuts till I take care of them, but I guess that doesn't really explain much about....uhm..."

"Here's the deal," Matt said. "I'm not in love with you. I don't have a crush on you, I'm not stalking you or anything like that. I think once you're a little more comfortable with yourself in this town, at school, you'll turn out to be the kind of girl I'd like to go out with, but for now I'm interested in being friends, and that's it. I'm also interested in having someone to talk to at Prom who won't automatically think of me as April's sloppy seconds. That's why I asked you, and that's all I have to say on the subject. As for your point of view—I can't even begin to guess at what's in your head lately."

"So...you're not mad?"

"Mad?" Matt swallowed his soda and coughed. "Mad about what? Today at lunch? Again, Rhi, you confuse me. I can't think of any other way to say it. First you and I are having a good time, then you panic and try to run—only to show up at my house to make all my buddies jealous. Now you're acting like you think I'm gonna deck you. I'm not mad—I can barely tell which end is up with you."

Rhi wiped her mouth. "Well, you confuse me too, you know. I mean, I was fine eating lunch with you and hanging out and everything, but then all this crap with April hits the fan—"

"Shit."

"What?"

"The phrase is 'shit hits the fan'. I know you're not that prim, Rhi."

"Fine, all this _shit_ hits the fan, and you're saying you did it because of me, and you want to go to Prom with me, and please won't I call you—what am I supposed to think?"

"_I_ think you have intimacy issues," Matt commented, helping himself to more pizza.

"And I think you're awful familiar with my pizza for someone who invited _ himself _to dinner," Rhi snapped. "There's no point to this, Matt. I don't want a boyfriend and you don't want me for a girlfriend. You're sending all these signals that you don't think that way, though, and so you're blaming me for when I don't know how to react?"

"My friends," Matt stated, "find you hot, and think I'm crazy for wanting to give you space. They also think you'd make a good addition to our team, since you're at least a head taller than the rest of them. So let's forget the other question we're hashing, and let me ask you this—ever played Ultimate?"

"Ultimate Frisbee? Uhm, I've tried frisbee golf a couple times, but not that."

"It's a little like soccer or football, only the players are _supposed_ to be a little more civilized than that. I mean, it can get a little rough, but it's totally fun, and I think you might like it. So here's another question: wanna come play with us on Sunday?"

"Uh, sure." Rhi sipped her soda. "YOu guys just play together, or do you scrimmage, or what?"

"Oh, no, there's a whole league here. It's kinda like a bowling league, I guess, in that the teams organize it themselves, and we borrow the field from a rec center downtown on Wednesday nights for games. It gets kind of cutthroat, but it's really all in fun. We don't have coaches, but each team has a captain, and the league has volunteer referees and stuff. We even have t-shirts."

"Cool. Sure, I'll come watch practice. It is a practice, right?"

"Yeah, but we'd rather you _play_. We don't do drills or anything, unless someone wants to make up a new move or something, but we go for a few hours and we play a couple scrimmage games. You'll like it, don't worry."

"Oh, ok."

"This brings up another question. What am I gonna tell everyone who saw you today?"

"Are they all gonna be there?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna ask you to Prom one more time, Rhi, and then I'll let it alone. I might want to dance with you once, if at all, and I'm more interested in talking to you and making fun of everyone's clothes than in really doing anything. If I show up, will you show up too?"

"Do I have to dress up?" Now Matt could tell she was teasing.

"I don't even know if I'm wearing a tie. YOu could wear jeans if you want to."

"OK, then. I guess I could show up for a little while."

"Cool. Hey, if we're both gonna show up at the same time, wanna catch a ride with me?"

This time Rhi smiled for real. "Sure. Maybe we could get ice cream before hand, or something."

Matt grinned, unmindful of the red splotch of sauce on his chin. "Just so long as I don't get anything on my good t-shirt. I mean, this is a formal occasion, you know."

"Oh, of course."

"So I can tell the team we're going to Prom together?"

"As long as that's all you tell them."

"Deal."

They finished the rest of the pizza in a comfortable quiet, and Matt even helped with what little clean up there was—mostly just greasy napkins. As Rhi was rinsing the last o fthe grease off her hands, he stretched and said, "So, wanna give me the grand tour?"

The Abernathy home, like most of the others in the neighborhood, was a single-story ranch with what the realtor had called a 'habitable basement'. It wasn't a grand mansion, and Rhi knew that with all the bedroom doors open you could pretty much tell what the whole main floor contained without a tour. Standing in the living room, where opened the front door, the short hall to the bedrooms and bathroom, and the combination kitchen/dining room, Rhi pointed, stating. "My room. Mom's room. Bathroom. TV. Kitchen. Questions?"

"What's in the basement?"

Rhi shrugged, suddenly shy of revealing the occupation of her leisure time. "Just some of my stuff."

"Can I see?" Matt was already in the kitchen and down the basement stairs when Rhi grudgingly started to move towards the door. At the foot of the stairs he paused for a minute, then pointed to the punching bag. "That yours?"

"Uh-huh."

"Huh. April said you thought you were a hardass. Guess you more than think it, huh?"

Rhi shrugged her bony shoulders again. "I can take care of myself."

"Wanna show me a couple moves? Eh? C'mon, champ," Matt danced around her, tossing up mocking jabs, "show me what ya' got."

Rhi stayed as she was, arms folded. "No"

"C'mon. You won't hurt me, I promise."

"I don't feel like it right now."

"What, afraid you can't take me? Huh?" Matt was entirely teasing, but his loose fist suddenly swung a little too close to her jaw, and Rhi blocked it without thinking, what little good humor she retained disappearing. She hung onto the fist he'd tossed at her face, and when Matt couldn't readily free himself, she saw him beginning to understand.

"Ok, fine. Let's, uh, just go back upstairs."

She let go his hand and followed him back up to the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind her.

"I, uh, should get home," Matt said, glancing at the darkening sky through the window. "Some of the guys wanted to see a movie tonight, so...."

"OK." Rhi paused briefly. "Thanks for stopping by, Matt."

"No prob. Hey, you wanna come with us? Dinner and a movie, whaddaya say?"

"No thanks. I don't know when MOm's getting home from her date and I wanna be here to give her the third degree."

"Gotcha." Matt clapped her on the shoulder awkwardly. "See ya Sunday, my house, OK?"

"You bet. See ya, Matt."

"See ya."


	8. Trials and Tribulations

Some time later—Rhi hadn't glanced at the clock since Matt left—she fell into bed, feeling discontent and off-set. When Matt had gone Rhi had gone back down to the basement, but there was no fight in her and she'd only stared at her punching bag, lumpish and utterly lifeless un der the light of the bare bulbs. Sighing, she'd switched off the light again and trudged back upstairs, checked the locks on the doors, and meandered to her room. She wasn't bored, not exactly—just upset, and she wasn't sure why. Talking things out with Matt, hashing over things and finding out exactly what was going on, should have made her feel better. Of course she was looking forward to Sunday, to trying something new and who knows?—maybe meeting some more people she might like—but something had set her nerves on edge, and she couldn't dwell on the resolution she and Matt had reached, or on the new sport. She couldn't seem to dwell on anything.

The low light from her bedside lamp seemed to tangle in the silver gilt on the frame of the giant mirror resting in the corner of her room. Rhi squirmed around under the covers and managed to bring her head down to the foot of the bed, nearer the looking-glass, and lay staring at the Mirror and not thinking of anything at all. The light trapped on the silver embellishments wound its way around and around the frame, shifting as though on water that moved with an inorexable calm. It danced in Rhi's eyes and seemed to tremble on the edge of the glass itself, the way the tiny ripples at the edge of a puddle will hesitate before crossing back over the once-smooth surface. Mind completely blank, Rhi allowed herself to drift in the tiny dancing light, feeling her eyes growing heavier and heavier. The light whispered past her eyes, washing over her face...

Drifted....

Drifting

Floating

Falling

Whispers over her eyes became whispers between her ears, distant voices too beautiful and too strange for her to comprehend, but none of that was important because there wasn't anything for them to tell her yet. For now the murmurs remained far off and unconcerned, like music in an elevator but far more pleasant. Her head felt heavier than gold, her arms and legs like stone—had the house been on fire she couldn't have moved. None of that mattered, though—Rhiannon was asleep.

Her tuxedoed, faceless stranger stepped through the Mirror and helped her across the undulating threshold, into a thick world of silver curtains and gossamer. As soon as both feet were on the other side her faceless guide dissolved into the dewy velvet that surrounded her in close rows. Rhi put out a hand and knew she was dreaming, for the rich cloth folded between her fingers but she could not feel it in her hand. Looking down, she saw her bare feet were planted firmly on flagstones or cobblestones, and was distantly thankful she could not feel their cold.

_I wonder where I am. _

_You don't know, do you?_

The other voice was distant, curious, but almost unconcerned about her intrusion.

_Maybe I'm supposed to be here._

_That remains to be seen. Who are you?_

_That's a silly question. This is_ m_y dream._

_Of course. _Your_ dream. _

_Of course it's my dream. _

_I wonder if you're going to be the one this time. _

_Which one? What time?_

_We have one like you, only he's a boy. His father melts metal._

_My father is dead._

_So I see._

Rhi whirled, suddenly aware of someone behind her, but there was no one there—just the swimming surface of the mirror, waving a picture of her bedroom across its silvered surface. The presence was still behin d her and she spun back, and around, and around and around trying to catch whoever waited over her shoulder but they were too fast they moved too fast to quick for her to see but there was someone she was sure and she spun left and right and the silver curtains twirled with her and wrapped her arms and legs and she wasn't stone and gold any more but the rich fabric was and she was caught and a silvered rope caught round her neck and there wasn' any air but the man was still behind her---

And even in her dream the world darkened as the air left her. There wasn't room to struggle in the stone draperies, wasn't room to toss or breathe, and as the air left her it all began to fall away except for the heavy silver rope around her neck, but her arms wouldn't let her betray the stone draperies and pull it off

_Maybe you _will_ be the one this time_

And now the world was charcoal and now black with silver shining in the depths like moonlight on water and now she felt something, a cold shattering against her back as she swooned and fell back through the Mirror and onto her bedroom rug

And the sweet fist of air that slammed into her lungs as she hit the floor, wrapped in sheets and blankets and bedclothes, the pillow falling away from her face.

"Rough night?" Mrs. Abernathy asked without a trace of sympathy, a smile dancing at the corners of her eyes as she sipped her morning coffee. Rhi only grunted, padding in her bare feet to the refridgerator. Yawning at the frigid selection presented, she took the carton of chocolate milk off the shelf and sat with it at the kitchen table, staring numbly at the brown cow on the front until Ms. Abernathy plunked a glass down in front of her.

"I got home around eleven and you were already asleep," Mom continued. "Are you feeling alright, honey? I saw you ate the whole pizza yourself, and I hope it didn't upset your stomach—"

"I didn't sleep well," Rhi mumbled, finally pouring milk into her glass. Which was true, she reflected—even after neatening her sheets she hadn't been able to get back to sleep, and didn't not sleeping fall under the heading of not sleeping well?

"Another nightmare?" Mom asked. Rhi nodded but didn't elaborate.

"Honey, I know you didn't like the idea before, but it's not too late to talk to someone about your dreams," Mom continued tentatively. "I still have nightmares, but they're fewer and further between since I've been to counseling, and they don't all...don't all involve your father."

"I got tangled in the sheets and dreamed I was choking," Rhi sighed, "not about Dad. There was nothing about Dad in it."

"Oh. Well."

Rhi drained her glass of milk. "HOw was dinner last night?"

Ms. Abernathy smiled. "Very nice, thank you. We went to a very nice restaurant downtown, and there was a live swing band and we all got up and danced a bit."

"Who did you dance with?"

"Well, Carol had to teach me the jitterbug again, and another woman, Susan, and I showed everyone the Charleston, and Andrew and I danced a little," she finished hastily.

Rhi raised her eyebrows and Ms. Abernathy reddened. "So," was all Rhi said.

"We only danced to part of one song, and just so Carol could help Mark with his foxtrot," Mom said defensively. "And I think I danced with Susan and Carol more than either Mark or Andrew. Really, neither of them was very steady on his feet after we'd been there a while."

"You were drinking?"

"Only a little sherry after dinner, hon. And Carol drove home."

"But the others?"

"We'd all had a long day, darling, and I promise none of them were any worse off than I was." She paused. "I didn't even see Andrew _near_ the bar."

"Well."

"Are you this expressive at school? No wonder this Matt is so enamored of you."

Rhi pulled a face at her mom. "Matt, for your information, is _not_ enamored of me."

"So you're not going to the Prom together?" The disappointment on Mom's face was almost painful, and Rhi was glad enough to be able to relieve it.

"No, we are. As _friends._ But we're going, which means...." Rhi trailed off, suddenly realizing what _it meant._ "I guess it means I have to find a dress or something, huh."

"Oh, honey, wonderful! You know, I was a little disappointed when you and Dan didn't go to junior prom last year, I was _so _ looking forward to finding you a dress! Of course, you've gotten taller since then—"she gave Rhi a critical once-over, "—but you still have such a unique shape, you'll be able to find _hundreds_ of things all the other girls won't have a _chance _ of wearing. HOw tall is Matt?"

"Uh..." Rhi shook her head. "I dunno, maybe my height, maybe an inch taller?"

"Well, we'll put you in flats, then, but that's fine. YOu've got nice ankles, you can wear pretty much anything. Oh, and your hair! There's a salon near the office, I've heard great things from Susan about them—I'll give them a call tomorrow and get you an appointment."

"Mom, Mom, take it easy!" Rhi said. "I've got plenty of time to do all this. Besides, tomorrow's Sunday and I don't think they'll be open."

"You're right, hon, I'll have to wait till Monday. But isn't Prom in a couple weeks here? You don't have all the time in the world, Rhiannon. In fact, we could go out to the mall today and look for a dress. Did you have plans?"

"Uh, no, but—"

"Alright then. YOu go get dressed and whatnot, we'll get going and see if we can't find you something to wear. Let's hope you're not the only one waiting till this late, but if we can't find something today we can go out next weekend too. Hurry up, honey," she added, "the mall's open by now, we want to beat the rush! It'll be fun, I promise."

----------------------------

What followed was the most challenging trial of Rhiannon Abernathy's young life. Ms. Abernathy was right, in that Rhi's angular shape and slender frame opened up scores of possibilities to her that someone else (of, say, April's proportions) wouldn't have been able to consider—but that didn't make _any_ of the decisions any easier. There wasn't any magical design or fabric or color that pointed to the 'perfect' dress, and in Rhi's opinion, Ms. Abernathy didn't make things any simpler. A strapless top that Rhi liked failed to pass Ms. Abernathy's inspection because it made her shoulders look bony; the vibrant red Mom fell in love with turned her into a radioactive tomato. They shared the opinion that fluffy 'Cinderella skirts' turned her into an inverted thistledown and were inevitably too short, making her exposed ankles knobby. For a brief, panicky moment, Rhi found herself stuck in a rhinestone monstrosity that made her look like a fruitcake, the zipper pinned in a fold of slick fabric hopelessly out of reach. It was one of the few moments of mirth she and her mom shared that day—three hours into the search, and all she'd found was a pair of earrings she liked.

The Abernathys slumped together on a bench in the middle of the mall, disgruntled at the utter lack of success in their hunt.

"What if we start with the shoes?" Mom suggested halfheartedly. Rhi roused herself out of her brown study and looked around at her mother. "It's entirely possible that once we find the right _shoes_ the rest will—"she broke off abruptly.

"Will what?" Ms. Abernathy didn't respond, staring off into the distance as though she'd seen someone she knew. "Mom? What is it?"

Ms. Abernathy grabbed Rhiannon's hand and hauled her off the bench, towing her through the crowded shopping mall as though she were motorized and her daughter were only a cargo she carried. Weaving skillfully through the masses of shoppers Ms. Abernathy homed in on a shiny platinum storefront, resplendant with rotating neon lights and pounding dance music. Through the shopfront Rhi was towed, spun, and planted in front of a mannequin that stood in the low windows.

"Mom—"she tried again, but Ms. Abernathy was examining the dummy from headless top to bottom.

"This is perfect, Rhi, perfect!" Mom chirped, circling the mannequin. Rhi finally took her eyes from the shark that had been her mother five minutes ago—and saw that her mother might, for now, be right.

The mannequin, narrow-waisted and small-chested like Rhi herself, was hiked to a height that (had it posessed a head) was close to Rhi's. From the abbreviated neck draped a silky black halter top that wrapped around low on the back to drop to a point over the front and back waist. The skirt flowed from there straight to the floor, floating just above it in satiny folds. At the neck and the lower hem were scattered tiny handfuls of diamondlike stones that sparkled with just enough brilliance to flatter even a headless mannequin.

It would even go with the earrings Rhi had already bought.

"I want it," Rhi said.

Forty minutes later Rhiannon and Ms. Abernathy strolled gaily down the fairway towards the parking lot, Mom with a shoebox and jeweler's bag, Rhiannon with the garment bag containing her new dress. Her shoes were simple black flats; to the faux diamond earrings purchased earlier they'd added two silver haircombs, a trio of sparkling bangles and a pair of opera-length black gloves. The Abernathy women chatted gaily about plans for Rhi's thick black hair and the probable color of Matt's tie—

A tall man with dark hair and a distinctive gait turned the corner to the parking garage, just down the corridor. Rhi's heart froze in her throat as Ms. Abernathy siezed her arm.

"Mom—"Rhi's voice sounded strangled—she couldn't seem to get enough air to make it sound normal.

"Honey, it's...it's nothing, I'm sure..." But Mom's strides lengthened and quickened anyway, like her _body_ needed to identify this man, even if her _ mind _ didn't want to.

The pair of them hurried, half-running down the cement corridor towards the corner where the man had turned. Under the orange sodium lights of the parking garage the man ahead of them lost any distinct coloring, but the darkness of the hair and beard were unmistakable.

_It can't be it can't be it won't be but maybe...._

He fished in his pocket for a set of keys, jangling them in one large palm until the right one appeared—_just like—_

Now Mom was running, jogging awkwardly with the shoe box against her chest. Rhi clutched the dress bag to her, trying to hold it with both hands while knowing she should put out a hand to slow her mother. Ms. Abernathy moved faster yet—

"Mom—"Rhi tried again, but hope and fear and tears choked her off and Ms. Abernathy didn't hear her.

The shoebox slipped from Mom's hands like a captive thing offered freedom. The clatter of the shoes and jewelry on the pavement of the garage echoed like a rock fall. The achingly familiar man at his blue sedan (_blue, I can see blue now, it shouldn't be blue it should be red_) turned at the sound to see the two women kneeling, trying to retrieve their lost belongings and composure.

His nose was wrong—too small—setting his face on the wrong planes, destroying the curve of his forehead and eyebrows. His mouth curved down, sneeringly, not up, not kindly, not like it should have. Rhi stared at him, _stared_, strength and hope draining from her like water. She was stone again, cement like the floor of the parking garage, pavement like the rough slabs she knelt on.

It wasn't him.

_It's not him._

_Of course not._

_It's not him._

"Rhi—"Now Mom's voice sounded rusty, jagged like an old knife. Ms. Abernathy stared at her daughter and Rhi stared back, and neither of them could believe how suddenly haggard and worn and _old_ the other looked. As though they'd been through hell.

Again.

"Let's go home, honey," Ms. Abernathy whispered.


	9. Reflections

Rhiannon waited that night until she heard the distinct click of her mother turning the light off in her room, before retrieving the dressmaker's bag from her closet. For a moment, she only held it up, gazing lovingly at the slick, heavy fabric and rhinestones through the clear plastic. She'd tried it on in the store—with her white socks peeking out from the bottom, the bulge of her jeans around the waist, the straps of her green sports bra crossing her shoulders, and her hair scraped back from her face in a messy braid. Now she carefully slid the dress from the bag, shucked her other clothes, and stepped into the dress. At her dressing table mirror she stooped to see herself slide the faux diamonds into her earlobes and twist her hair up with the silver combs; feeling very much like Audrey Hepburn she slipped on first the gloves and then the stone-studded bangles. Then she turned to face her Prom-bedecked self in the Mirror.

Again came that queer sense that she was gazing at someone else through the ghostly glass. Though her hair was a little sloppy, her eyes a trifle haunted by the near-miss encounter with her father's ghost, the girl looking back at her was, for a moment, definitely not Rhiannon Abernathy. The other girl was too slimly elegant, far more comfortable in such understated extravagance and glamour than _she_ could ever hope to be; it was as though a Rhiannon from another where or when had come to be, a different version of the taciturn, awkward high school junior who was accustomed to late night parties and coaches and fairy godmothers. Well, maybe not fairy godmothers—but the aura of that other reflection looked like she would find nothing odd about poisoned apples, dragons, or thousand-year slumbers held in the lethal spindle of a spinning wheel.

For the moment she existed, Rhi was more jealous of that other girl than she'd ever been in her life.

The wistful sigh that escaped her seemed to blow off the other girl's hold on Rhi's form and she stood there in the Mirror, plain old Rhiannon, daughter of Marienne and—

_How did my little firefly get so grown-up beautiful?_

She whirled just as she had in her dream, more than certain that she'd heard her father's faraway murmur at her shoulder—but of course there was no one there, and this time, no silver rope flung itself around her throat to choke her. Rhi breathed again, not sure when she'd stopped doing so, her heart sinking the way a tiny stone does in calm water: slowly, almost lazily, but drifting down, away from the sunlight even so.

Her sleep that night was blissfully uneventful, and after lunch Sunday afternoon she biked to the park where Matt had invited her to Frisbee practice. The day was bright, the air completely still and very warm, with little of the dampness of the morning lingering in the promise of a hot summer's day.

Matt and a few of his friends—his teammates, Rhi supposed—were already on the field, stretching, when Rhi ambled up. All of them were dressed as she was: tank tops and t-shirts with soccer shorts and sweats, but instead of trainers, everyone else wore what looked like soccer cleats. Matt beamed wide when she walked up to him, and made quick work of the necessary introductions; Rhi recognized a few of the players from classes, and was secretly relieved when they smiled at her. By two-thirty there were at least twenty people stretching on the sidelines of the field or tossing Frisbees back and forth, and the captains—a girl from their Spanish class named Cassie and a redheaded boy Rhi didn't know, named Danny—called the team to order. At Cassie's whistle everyone lined up on one of the white chalk lines at the end of the field, as if they were getting ready to start a footrace.

"These are called ladders," Matt explained quickly as the line settled. "Run from here to the first white line, touch it, run back here. Turn around, go to the second line, touch that, and run back here. Don't stop till you've gotten to the other end zone—"he pointed, "—and then we start from that end and run down to the first line, here." Matt planted his feet at the edge of the sideline and crouched.

"I thought you said you guys didn't do drills," Rhi pointed out, settling her feet like Matt's.

"This isn't drilling, this is training. Don't worry, you'll do fine," Matt assured her.

Four hours later Rhiannon dragged her aching body through the front door to flop on the couch of her living room. The bike ride home, she decided as her heart began to slow its painful thumping, had been the worst. After four sets of ladders and four laps around the field before even starting a scrimmage game, her leg muscles felt like plastic baggies full of hot sand; her tongue itched and her throat burned and there was a stitch needling into her side. Then came the actual playing: Ultimate Frisbee was one big long fifty-yard dash, punctuated by spectacular leaps, full-on tackles and fancy catches and tosses that Rhi wished she could _watch_ rather than try to anticipate and react to at her first game. Cassie and Danny prowled the sidelines like hell's referees, calling fouls and flags on any and every supposition of foul play, bellowing at their players to _cover your man_ or _faster, guys, faster _and _jump, damn you, JUMP for the damn thing! _Rhi sprinted up and down the field with everyone else, batting at the flying discs and trying to hit her receiver with each throw, taking a couple good hits from tackling defenders but never, luckily, tripping on her own feet or falling down on her own. After three hours of that came the grueling pedal home, against traffic that hadn't ever been so heavy before, and along streets that she'd have sworn weren't uphill the _last_ time she'd biked on them.

Despite her multitude of aches and pains, despite the grit in her mouth and the grass stains on her shirt, despite the sweat pouring down her face and back, Matt had somehow gotten her to promise—to _promise, _no less—that she'd at least come to the game Wednesday. Something told her that even if a real game was less hardcore than this scrimmage had been, she might not survive to Thursday if they decided she needed to play.

"Hi honey," Ms. Abernathy's voice shone from the hallway. Rhi spared her last ounce of energy to turn her head (hearing even her neck muscles creak in protest at this latest exertion) and gaze dully at her brightly-smiling mother. "Muuuugh," she answered.

"Looks like _you _had fun today," Mom observed, settling into the armchair across from her daughter. "I hope you don't have mud on the back of your pants. You certainly have enough everywhere else."

"Muuugh," Rhi repeated. It was the only thing that didn't take effort to say.

"Yes, well." Mom smoothed her skirt over her lap. Rhi hadn't even noticed she was wearing one...along with her peridot earrings, and bracelet...and heels. Why heels on a Sunday?

"Rhi, Carol called and asked us out to dinner tonight, you and I. She and Mark and Andrew—"did Mom blush everso slightly at the mention of his name? "—well, none of them have families here, so I guess they prefer eating out to cooking for themselves. Anyways, I didn't know what time you'd be home, so I said _I'd_ go, but if you're, ummm, feeling up to it, I can call Carol and tell her you're coming along, or you and I can stay in tonight, it's up to you. But Carol will be here in about an hour, so if you'd like to go, now's the time to get off the couch and into the shower."

Rhi briefly considered getting up—showering—dolling herself up for a third-degree evening with her mother and this man who seemed to show up whenever Mom wanted to do something social. She tried, she really did—but when she discovered she didn't have enough energy to raise her head, she opted instead for a third, less taxing, "Muuuugh".

"And that means _what_, darling?"

Rhi found she could flap a hand at her mother. "You go. I hurt."

"Are you sure?"

"Muuugh," Rhi said again, although in a much more assuring tone this time. She managed to roll onto her side and nearly tipped off the edge of the couch. "Rhi tired. Legs don't work. Mushy. You go."

"Did you at least have fun this afternoon?" Mom got up, straightening her skirt again.

"Fun. Ow. I mean, yeah. Ow."

"Well, what can I make for you before I go?" Ms. Abernathy called from the kitchen. Rhi concentrated her efforts and was able to sway herself upright; with a supreme effort she grunted and heaved up off of the couch. Her legs, she decided, had ceased to be baggies full of sand: now they were full-fledged tubes of concrete, the kind that look small and portable compared to the big paper sacks, but prove to weigh so much more because of their ergonomical tube design. Her shoulders strained against themselves, trying to relax but unable to; panting, she leaned against the kitchen doorjamb and watched her mother fill a pot with water.

"Don't worry, Mom, I can make my own macaroni and cheese," she said, with a real effort at a smile (her face only ached from a slight sunburn). "I mean, I'm an invalid, but I can boil water just fine."

"And so can I. Sit down, Rhi, you look like you're going to collapse."

"I'm fine, really," Rhi insisted, flopping into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. She tried to stretch, but found that much too painful. Maybe after a hot shower....

"So are Carol and one of these fine gentlemen dating, or what?" Rhi asked inelegantly, leaning her head on one hand.

"No," Mom's voice was deceptively light: Rhi could see her shoulders tense under her champagne-colored blouse. "No, we—well, they've all worked in the same department together for a while now, and no one in our little corner of the world is married except m—ahem, has ever _been_ married except me." She turned to give her daughter a stiff smile. "They're a little kind of family for each other, is all. I'm glad to be included in their get-togethers. It's like—"

"Like being asked to dinner?" Rhi managed a wicked little smile.

"It's a privelaged kind of inclusion, darling." Mom's tone of voice made it clear that her daughter shouldn't have any strength left to argue.


End file.
